Mistaken Identities
by astrid-ink
Summary: Maxson needs to get laid. And he's not going to fuck around with someone under his command. So he makes the only sensible decision and decides to visit everyone's favourite den of inequity, Goodneighbor, and find someone to spend the night with. But he crosses paths with an ex-gunner and a lanky ghoul in a strange outfit who feel like playing tricks on this handsome douchebag.


Maxson had briefly considered Diamond City but knew the risks would have outweighed any benefit. True, it was the biggest settlement within a hundred-mile radius of the Prydwyn but that was its problem, it was too close. He had no doubt that he could have found what he needed there. However, he would have also found an unacceptable amount of Brotherhood Soldiers with spare caps, loose flies, and even looser tongues. Gossip is a dangerous weapon, and not one he was willing to fuel.

He wasn't blind, he was more than aware of the indiscretions of his subordinates even if they had convinced themselves otherwise. But he'd be damned if he let his men get even a whisper of his shore-leave activities. So Goodneighbor it was. He scowled against the cold as he paced through the back-alleys behind Diamond City. He pulled at the collar of this new and unfamiliar jacket, his trademark coat rolled and neatly packed at the bottom of his back-pack, his replacement doing nothing to protect him from the biting wind that whistled through Boston.

Goodneighbor.

Fuck the Commonwealth. Fuck a shithole like Goodneighbor being his best option. Intel was surprisingly scarce on the details. He had a fair idea of the layout but knew little of the inhabitants. Apparently, it had some kind of abomination as its mayor and its claim to fame was a reputation for selling top quality guns, chems, and sex. Further recon had provided more information on the local bar; it had top-shelf booze (i.e. someone bothered to certify that it was alcohol and not repurposed fuel) and some kind of singer, although Maxson wasn't there for the music.

The entrance to Goodneighbor was small and dark with the tall buildings and narrow streets offering a sense of anonymity. He had memorised the layout provided by overhead surveillance and already knew the way to the bar. He walked with purpose, his shoulders back and his head held high. Sneaking was not in his repertoire, and he had often found that any attempt to be discrete only succeeded in attracting more attention.

A few people lingered outside the entrance to the bar and a ghoul wearing a faded tux told him to behave as Maxson descended the stairs into The Third Rail.

Maxson had only done this a handful of times and on those occasions luck, more than anything, had provided. But this was new territory, and he was picky.

He swirled his drink, the ice clinking delicately as he considered his next move. He used the mirror behind the bar to scope out the room; there were a handful of groups here and there, a smattering of lone men and women with the odd ghoul dotted in the crowd. It was a delicate business, and for his many talents, subtlety wasn't among them. No. He was going to have to ask around. His gaze fell on the wiry man set next to him.

"Ex-Military?" He asked, eyeing the stranger's faded green coat and belt of .308s around his thigh.

"What's it to you?" The stranger shot back with a wary look. Maxson put his hands up in mock surrender.

"Just looking to buy a fellow soldier a drink, and get some info while I'm at it." Offered Maxson.

"Are you coming on to me?" The man asked through a toothy smirk.

"No." Maxson responded curtly "Not my type." He added in what he hoped was an apologetic tone.

"Ah. I thought my wily charms had ensnared another one – name's MacCready." He offered his hand, gunpowder and burns littered his fingers and Maxson resisted the urge to wipe his hand on his trousers after shaking it.

"Arthur." Lying was another one of those things that brought more attention than it deflected. "So was I right?"

"Yep. Ex-Gunner." MacCready saluted sloppily. Maxson frowned, while the Gunners weren't exactly a Brotherhood priority their reputation had already preceded them all the way to the citadel.

"Is there such a thing?" He asked.

"Well, despite their best efforts, you're looking at one so I guess so." MacCready shrugged and smiled.

They spent a short while discussing their preferred rifles while MacCready smoked a battered cigarette. The Mr Handy robot who had served Maxson when he first came in was at the other end of the bar, and Maxson's glass was empty.

"You there. Ghoul." Maxson snapped his fingers at the figure bent behind the bar. The ghoul straightened up, a bottle of whiskey in hand, and pointed at himself.

"Who, me?" he asked innocently.

"Do you see another ghoul back there?" Maxson asked as he took in the strange figure, tall and gangly he wore a faded shirt with ridiculous frills around the neck, a U.S. flag tied around his waist in some sort of make-shift belt.

"No." The ghoul said, cracking a wide smile, "but then I am absolutely off my face and my eye-sight ain't all that great, sweet-heart."

Maxson grunted in response.

"I'll have another double," he tapped his glass "and MacCready here will have… whatever." Maxson didn't see the ghoul raise his eyebrows at MacCready who offered a bewildered shrug in return.

"Sure why not, kid." The ghoul's voice was like nails down a chalk-board and Maxson supressed a shudder.

"An atom bomb baby… John. Thanks." Macready said with the smallest of hesitations.

The bottle made a satisfying clink as it touched the edge of Maxson's glass.

"That's 40 caps, kid." John asked with a crooked smile, holding his gnarled hand out, Maxson dug into his pocket and put them on the counter, purposefully avoiding touching the ghoul.

"So what can I do you for?" MacCready asked. Maxson wanted to wait for the ghoul behind the bar to leave, but he seemed intent on joining their conversation, leaving the ridiculous Mr Handy to tend to the other customers. He turned on his seat, his back to the ghoul, and resting his arm on the bar, he surveyed the Third Rail.

"I'm looking to make a purchase." He said diplomatically, tilting his drink towards a group of average looking women.

"Ah." MacCready said as the ghoul placed a drink in-front of him. Maxson glanced at it before raising a questioning eyebrow. The ex-gunner was holding tall glass filled to the brim with some kind of pink and green fluid, it smoked slightly and MacCready had to blow the top of the glass to see its rim. Maxson said nothing.

"So, what are you looking for?" MacCready asked as he licked his lips. "Male? Female? Both? Tall, small, skinny, fat? Blonde? Brunette? Or something a bit more exotic?" He nudged Maxson with his elbow as a ghoul wearing something that resembled a dress winked at them. Maxson's eyes bored into MacCready.

"Okay, okay, strictly vanilla. Sheesh!" MacCready shook his head.

Over the next hour the ex-gunner detailed the sordid ins and outs of the Goodneighbor population. Occasionally the ghoul would interject with unwanted and explicit details of his own dealings with many of the men and women that the gunner pointed out.

"Picky ain't ya?" John said.

"I have high standards _ghoul."_ Maxson replied curtly, his fifth double loosening his tongue "I prefer my partners to be intact.". A wicked spark of inspiration flashed across the ghouls face and he shot MacCready a conniving smile.

"Well, I suppose you'll be wanting a pre-war gal then?" John asked innocently.

"I believe I already said no ghouls." Maxson rumbled as he started to lose his patience with the barman.

"Oh no, no. She's not a ghoul." MacCready grinned, catching on. "No, she's pre-war alright."

Maxson's brow furrowed as he looked at the pair incredulously.

"I tend to prefer them under 200." He growled, it was the closest thing to a joke he had made all evening. The ghoul laughed and slapped the counter before leaning over the bar.

"Nope, this one, she's something special. Can't be a day over twenty-five." He rasped, and MacCready nodded in agreement, spilling some of his drink on his jacket.

"I heard Vault Tech put a bunch of them on ice. Froze her for 200 years like a damn meat-popsicle. How about that?" the ghoul's voice was low as he whispered in a conspiratorial tone.

"Yup." MacCready said, "I saw it as well, up past Concord in the North, creepy as hell."

"Fuck Vault Tech." The ghoul shook his head, and on this, Maxson agreed.

"Pre-War?" Maxson said darkly. "You expect me to believe that?"

"Look," MacCready said and called over a pretty woman in a red dress. "Magnolia! Come here a sec." The woman had been standing by the small stage, and on hearing MacCready's voice she raised her hand and sashayed over to them.

"She's the singer. Voice like fuck-, sorry, friggin' sex." MacCready slurred apparently unaware of Maxson's disinterest in his choice of words.

"RJ MacCready I already told you I'm not going to touch it." she began in an exasperated tone.

"No, no it's not that toots." The ghoul laughed gently and winked at her as he cracked open another bottle of whiskey and poured Maxson and himself very large doubles.

"We just wanted you to back us up to our friend here." MacCready said swinging his arm around Maxson, Magnolia raised her eyebrow in response.

"Go on." MacCready shook Maxson's shoulder, while Maxson resisted the urge to punch him. "You ask. That way you can't say we tried to trick you." He poked Maxson's chest with a long finger as he knocked back the remainder of his drink.

"Arthur." Maxson offered his hand, and when Magnolia gave hers in return he brought it to his mouth and kissed it gently.

"Magnolia." She smiled "Charmed. Now, what am I supposed to be confirming? That these two are trouble?" She laughed softly, her voice like velvet.

"I had that figured out already." Maxson smirked, admiring the curve of her waist in the small red dress. "These two are trying to convince me that there's a non-ghoul pre-war woman walking around the commonwealth?" Maxson asked, and much to his surprise the woman in front of him blushed heavily and hid her eyes beneath her heavy fringe.

"Oh, Blue?" She asked coyly.

"They froze her didn't they?" MacCready prompted eagerly.

"I don't know what they did to her darlin' but, my oh my, Nora is something." She paused, "A real diamond in the rough." Her dark eyes found Maxson's and she winked at him. Maxson nodded in thanks and watched the sway of her hips as she turned and left.

"What I wouldn't give to see that woman naked and-" MacCready's cheeks were ruddy and his words slightly slurred.

"I think Arthur here's got more of a chance with Magnolia than you." John interrupted MacCready as he leant over the table and punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"A man can dream." MacCready shook his head and appeared to sober up slightly. "And look, talking of our favourite blue lady, there she is." He nodded across the room to the stairs that led into the bar. Maxson turned and suddenly it was as if the room was empty except for her. The crowded and smoke filled room seemed vast and empty, an infinite distance between him and this woman.

She had an hourglass figure that had been poured into a black dress. Maxson's eyes trailed down the curve of her neck to the soft milky-white skin of her cleavage. Her hair was pinned into a messy bun with loose tendrils framing her face. She was absolutely beautiful.

"Friggin' stunner isn't she?" MacCready grinned in Maxson's ear.

The ghoul made an appreciative noise behind them, "You can say that again.".

The three men watched as she descended the stairs. As if sensing she was being watched her eyes scanned the room and met Maxson's for a moment before flitting between the ex-gunner and the ghoul. A warm smile spread across her face and she offered a small wave, her long fingers dancing delicately. Maxson nodded and tilted his drink while MacCready and John waved back.

Magnolia intercepted her at the bottom of the stairs and both women blushed beautifully as they kissed each other on the cheek. Magnolia whispered something in the stranger's ear and pointed in their direction.

Instantly MacCready and John looked away and tried to pretend that they had been doing something before she caught them staring. Maxson did not look away, and he felt his stomach flip as she held his gaze despite the blush rising from her neck.

She did not come over straight away. Instead she made her way slowly across the room, stopping to talk to individuals as she went. She seemed completely unaware of the way in which heads turned to follow her across the room.

The music had got louder while a ghoul fiddled on stage preparing the microphone for Magnolia. Maxson put his hand over his glass to stop the barman topping him up. MacCready slumped in stool and hiccupped into his 3rd atom bomb baby. _Lightweight._ Maxson thought, not unkindly.

"Well go on then if you're not gonna have another drink." John said as he swallowed a mouthful directly from the bottle.

"She's expensive." MacCready practically giggled, but Maxson wasn't concerned about cost.

"Thank you…both." He said, begrudgingly nodding at the ghoul as he put a fistful of caps on the table. "I think that should cover the drinks." And he walked over to the stranger in the black dress.

"Hancock?" MacCready said unsteadily as Maxson walked out of earshot. He slurped messily at his drink, his hat perched unsteadily on his head. Hancock took a long drag on a jet canister he'd found in his pockets a few moments before.

"Yep?" he said eventually.

"How fucked are we when he finds out she's not a hooker?" MacCready asked uncomfortably.

"Pretty fucked." Hancock replied gravely. A heavy silence settled between them until MacCready spoke in a small voice:

"He's got such big hands."

Hancock nodded in silent agreement, and then with a wide grin, he poured two shots and handed one to the ex-gunner.

"Not gonna lie kiddo, I'm more worried about what she's gonna do when she finds out _we_ were the ones who told him."

"Fuck." MacCready said simply before they both doubled over with laughter.


End file.
